


Truly, Madly, Deeply

by PumpkinDoodles



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Thor (Movies)
Genre: Based on a Tumblr Post, Dr Darcy Lewis Amateur Domestic Goddess, F/M, TripleAgent!Rumlow, this one is just all about self-care, valentine's day fic, we need more fics where a protagonist gains weight and is happy about it
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-14
Updated: 2021-02-25
Packaged: 2021-03-15 18:09:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,291
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29440245
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PumpkinDoodles/pseuds/PumpkinDoodles
Summary: With a gentle shove from Jane, Darcy decides to celebrate being single on Valentine's Day by being an aspiring domestic goddess again.
Relationships: Darcy Lewis/Brock Rumlow
Comments: 177
Kudos: 461





	1. The Art of Self-Seduction

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *I own nothing! Tiny spoiler alert: I'm giving Darcy her new canon-degree as a plot element in this story, but that's all in terms of Wandavision spoilers.

“So,” Darcy said to Ian, “I know it’s only January seventeenth, but are we going to do a chill Valentine’s Day again?” They had met for lunch. She and her longtime boyfriend usually celebrated casually; bottles of Two Buck Chuck and Chinese food, a fun movie. Maybe Darcy sprung for cheap lingerie in a fun color. She’d done that two--or was it three?--years ago when they’d last lived in the same place. She smiled at her boyfriend across the little restaurant table. “Or should we do something splashy because we’re finally together?” she asked.

“I can’t,” Ian said. He looked miserable.

“Do you need to do observations?” she said, frowning. They worked in separate labs. “It’s not a big deal if you have to be gone--I won’t be mad--”

“Darce, I’ve fallen in love with someone,” Ian said, swallowing. “I want--I can’t stay with you anymore.”

“What?” Darcy said feeling the room start to spin. “What?”

“I’m in love with Arabella,” he said.

“Your college girlfriend,” Darcy whispered. Arabella had started working alongside Ian at his lab in northern Virginia last year, while Darcy was finishing her degree. “You let me think everything was fine,” Darcy said, the news sending her reeling. “I moved here for you! I took a job at SHIELD so we could live in the same place!” Darcy had just accepted a job at SHIELD in DC after finishing graduate school across the country. “How could you do this to me, Ian?” she demanded, feeling her heart thud in her ears. 

“I don’t have an explanation,” he admitted. “But I am sorry.” He gave her a blankly sad look.

Darcy got up and dry-heaved in the bathroom. When she went back to work, she realized she would need to find a new place to live, too. She was stumbling blindly around the break room when she ran bodily into Sharon Carter. “I’m sorry, really, actually sorry,” Darcy said. “Not just fake dickhead sorry--”

“What’s wrong?” Sharon said, catching Darcy’s shoulders. Darcy was so upset, she was still shaking.

“My boyfriend of seven years just dumped me at lunch, I need to find a new place to live, he’s the only person I really know in DC,” Darcy rambled. “I can’t believe this is happening. I moved here for him! And now I’m--I don’t know where I’m going to live?”

“I can help,” Sharon said, voice kind. “I know an agent who wants to sublet his place. He’s already working overseas, so you can move right in.”

“Really?” Darcy said, feeling stunned.

“Tonight,” Sharon said. “It’s a safe building.” Sharon took her by that afternoon, once Darcy was done with work. She had a key. The apartment was small, but close to work. Carter explained that the apartment’s owner was a high-ranking SHIELD agent who had once run a STRIKE team, but he had spent the last several years doing various undercover projects. 

“Is he just terrifying?” Darcy wondered. The apartment—minimally decorated, very clean—lacked personality.

“Not terrifying, no,” Sharon said. “Just very disciplined.”

“Okay,” Darcy said doubtfully. Ian was waiting on her to move her belongings. Darcy looked at the last text he’d sent her, offering to pay for a storage place for her things if she wanted to stay at a hotel. 

“What do you think?” Sharon asked. Darcy looked from the sympathetic face of the blonde agent to her phone and back again. She moved into the apartment that night. When Sharon explained he’d be gone for most of the year, Darcy internally sighed in relief. That would give her time to find a real place to live. An actual home. Still, Darcy set her newly-framed diploma on her nightstand, so she’d see it every day. 

When she woke up in the middle of the night, she was disoriented by the unfamiliar walls and the lights from the street at the edges of the window blinds. It took her a moment to realize where she was---then Darcy started to cry. She sobbed until her body shook, tears hot and stinging her face, and swore at Ian for breaking her heart. When she had cried until she couldn’t cry anymore, she stumbled to the bathroom in the hall. Her face seemed odd and distorted in the mirror.

* * *

“I can’t believe he did that to you!” Jane said to her via phone. Darcy had called to update her on the Ian situation, once she segued from sad, weeping zombie to intense anger in early February. “That asshole!” Jane exclaimed again.

“I miss you,” Darcy confessed. She really did miss Jane’s fiercely protective anger. She felt raw and exposed, like someone had left her alone and half-dressed in public. Jane’s presence would’ve helped, she realized.

“Quit,” Jane said. “Come and work with me?”

“I just subleased a place,” Darcy said. “And I’m lousy company. I just feel so...washed out. I need to do something.” She kept catching glimpses of herself and feeling horror: Darcy was pale, had dark circles under her eyes, and had already lost weight because she’d been stressed finishing her dissertation defense and moving, then unable to eat from breakup anxiety. Whenever she’d looked at food, she felt nauseous. Since the move, she’d been living on cereal and popcorn, too drained to cook.

“You need a project,” Jane said. “How’s work?”

“I’m busy enough there,” Darcy said. At work, she felt more like herself. 

“Have you made anything fun lately?” Jane asked.

“Oh, Jane, I really don’t cook anymore,” Darcy said. 

“You don’t bake anymore?” Jane said. When they had worked together, Darcy had been an amateur domestic goddess, Jane had once joked. She’d made brownies regularly, filled cupcakes with lemon curd, and even had a killer recipe for Preacher Cake.

“No,” Darcy said, sighing. “You know, Ian went vegan and then it was just me and I was so busy with school…”

“I think you should again,” Jane said. “You loved baking!”

“I wouldn’t mind baking,” Darcy said. “I feel like I need….nourishment.” She never felt like she had the energy for it or the right reason to justify a celebration. It was just her, after all.

“You should, Darce,” Jane said. 

Where would she even begin? It had been years since she baked regularly.

It was February thirteenth when Jane texted her to wish Darcy a Happy Love Yourself Day. Darcy snorted, then read the attached link. A psychologist had started an actual self-love holiday before Valentine’s Day. It was kind of funny. Then she stumbled on a post about self-seduction that afternoon. Clicking the share button, she forwarded it to Jane.

**Former World’s Okayest Assistant:** is the universe trying to send me a message or something?

 **Let’s Get Astrophysical:** YES! 

**Former World’s Okayest Assistant:** maybe it’s just you, janeybug

 **Let’s Get Astrophysical:** you need to love yourself more

 **Let’s Get Astrophysical:** i’m buying myself something fancy

 **Former World’s Okayest Assistant:** pls, you’re doing that because you’re going to see Thor next week

 **Let’s Get Astrophysical:** shut up, you little b

 **Former World’s Okayest Assistant:** that’s dr. bitch, thank you very much

 **Let’s Get Astrophysical:** i’m so proud of my baby

That night, Darcy looked at the groceries she’d bought on the way home. “Am I crazy?” she wondered. She had decided to make an entire cake herself. For herself. Then she sat down and followed the recipe she had printed on a piece of paper. The edges were bent and there was a smear of what looked like oil along the bottom edge. Darcy had to find the apartment’s can opener in a back cabinet to open her crushed pineapple. The sweet smell rose up under her nose and Darcy sighed. She loved pineapple. Preacher Cake was a pineapple and coconut-laced cake with cream cheese frosting. It was simple enough to make from scratch and lightly flavored: she sprinkled her flour with cinnamon, as well as baking soda and salt. Into the sugar, eggs, and Tahitian vanilla, she added olive oil, instead of canola. That made her feel more virtuous, somehow. She married the wet and dry ingredients together, then carefully stirred in the pecans, pineapple, and coconut. 

The smell of cake baking made this stranger’s apartment feel more like home. Once it had cooled and she frosted it with the cream cheese and chopped pecans, Darcy took photos of the cake and texted them to Jane.

**Former World’s Okayest Assistant:** I did a thing! [photo]

 **Let’s Get Astrophysical:** yay! it looks delicious. how is it? 

**Former World’s Okayest Assistant:** I haven’t eaten any yet

Her phone rang. “Jane?” Darcy said, surprised. Jane disliked calling people. She was a text person now.

“For God’s sake, eat some of the cake!” Jane said in her ear.

“Okay, okay,” Darcy said, getting a fork. “This feels just like Puente Antiguo. You’re yelling and I’m eating cake.”

“Good,” Jane said. “This time, you listen to me.”

“Excuse me, I’ve never jumped into an aether,” she muttered.

“Are you being a wiseass?” Jane said.

“Probably,” Darcy said, giggling. She cut herself a square of cake and lifted it out of the aluminum sheet pan. She took her first bite. “Mmmm,” she said involuntarily. “I forgot how good this was!” 

“See? I was right,” Jane insisted. Darcy ate another bite of cake and caught herself nodding.

“Okay, you’re right,” she told Jane.

“Are you agreeing with me?” Jane said, sounding truly shocked. Darcy giggled.

* * *

She’d eaten several pieces by the time she brought the rest of the cake into work the next day and carried it to Sharon Carter. “I brought you cake,” Darcy said, “because you made sure I wasn’t, um, homeless and whatnot?”

“Thank you,” Sharon said, smiling.

“Please tell me you don’t have a nut allergy, I just realized,” Darcy said, looking at the cake under its clear lid.

“No, no,” Sharon said warmly. “God, this looks good. You cook?”

“I used to,” Darcy said. “I might miss trying new recipes.”

“Well, you’ll have plenty of people willing to eat food around here,” Sharon said happily, actually opening the cake’s foil pan to get a piece. “This looks sooo good,” she told Darcy. “I’ve got to find a freaking fork!” Sharon was looking for one in her desk when one of the cute techies walked by.

“What’s going on?” he asked.

“I need a fork! Darcy brought me cake. This is Cameron Klein,” Sharon explained. “Cam, Dr. Darcy Lewis.”

“You’re living in Rumlow’s apartment?” he asked. 

“Yes,” Darcy said. “I hope I’m not a letdown as a coworker.”

“No!” Sharon and Cam said at once. 

“Oh. Good,” Darcy said. 

“I’ll find you a fork, Shar,” Cam said. He sprinted out of the office, then returned with plates and forks tucked under his arm.

“He’d never bring cake,” Sharon said. “Cam, tell Darcy she’s a much better coworker than Rumlow already.” She seized the plates and started cutting the cake with a plastic fork.

“Yeah,” Cam said. He sighed and shook his head, accepting a plate from Sharon.

“What?” Darcy said, curious. 

“He held a gun to Cam’s head once, during his undercover stuff,” Sharon said. 

“Holy shih tzu!” Darcy said.

“That’s nothing,” Cam said, “show her your scar where he cut you.”

“He cut you?” Darcy said, as Sharon rolled up her sleeve. “And then you sublet his apartment?”

“Yeah,” Sharon said. There was a scar on her forearm. She took a big bite of cake.

“SHIELD is weird,” Cam said. “But please don’t leave. This is good cake.”  
  


She felt oddly better, even though it was technically Valentine’s Day. On her way home, she stopped at a grocery store and bought herself a bouquet, a mini bottle of prosecco, and the ingredients for carbonara. She spent the holiday watching cooking specials. It was midnight when she realized she hadn’t thought about Ian at all. She’d been too busy ordering cookbooks online and thinking about Stanley Tucci.

* * *

Darcy kept baking and cooking, trying different things: she swirled raspberry jam into lemon cake mix batter, taught herself to caramelize onions, spooned homemade baklava into store-bought phyllo cups, and soaked feta in jars of oil and seasoning. Within a few months, she had a collection of Nigella Lawson cookbooks, a bundt cake pan in the shape of a magnolia flower, was a devoted reader of the Smitten Kitchen blog, and wildly popular at work. She was slowly gaining weight, too. To her surprise, she felt better, not worse. She had energy again. She looked better. Her face had filled in and she had a soft double chin, fullness replacing the hollows under cheekbones and eyes. Whenever she posted selfies, Jane told her that she looked twenty-five again. One afternoon, noticing that one of her sweaters seemed shorter as she wiggled it down over her butt, she decided to step onto her apartment’s neglected bathroom scale. It was fancy--she spent ten minutes figuring out how to use it--so she knew it wasn’t wrong when the number appeared on the scale. She called Jane. “I weigh a hundred and forty six pounds,” she told Jane. “Should I be freaking out? You know I’m only five-two. That’s overweight, isn’t it?”

“Barely,” Jane scoffed. “How do you feel?”

“I feel great,” Darcy said. “Really great. Energetic, happy, everything.” 

“See? There you go,” Jane said. “And BMI is an insurance company metric. It’s not at all an index of health,” she added. Darcy was treated to a mini-lecture on the Health at Any Size movement, the work of Paul Campos, Susan Bordo’s _Unbearable Weight,_ and the general fuckery of diet culture. “Dieting is the most potent political sedative in women’s history,” Jane finished, clearly quoting someone, “you know that.”

“Jane,” Darcy said. “I really, really love you.”

“I love you, too,” Jane said. 

“Who said that?”

“Naomi Wolf,” Jane said.

“Oh,” Darcy said. “Still, I think I might need a bigger bra.”

“Don’t get me started on bras,” Jane muttered. “Don’t you dare buy underwire!” Darcy mock gasped.

“Just who do you think I am?” she joked. Browsing through Ashley Stewart’s website that evening, her mouse paused on a slinky-looking babydoll. She texted a photo to Jane.

**Former World’s Okayest Assistant:** would I look cute in this?

 **Let’s Get Astrophysical:** adorable. get it, get it

 **Former World’s Okayest Assistant:** enabler

 **Let’s Get Astrophysical:** you know I am

Darcy bought the babydoll. Didn’t it sound like part of that self-seduction post? She could do other nice things for herself, now that she was better at cooking. And that included celebrating her new size, she thought. Maybe bath oils that she could use in the apartment’s nice tub, too? She told Jane about her new plans. A few days later, she got a package and called the scientist in Australia. “You got me bath bombs and hair masks?” she said, without preamble.

“They looked fun!” Jane said. “They did send the galaxy one, right?”

“Yep,” Darcy said. “Thank you! They’re super cute. I'm so excited.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Based on this post, which sounds HELLA fun: https://yespumpkindoodlesthings.tumblr.com/post/642616641408106496/sorry-to-bother-you-but-could-you-go-on-more-about


	2. Mastering Pasta

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *I own nothing! Happy Valentine's Day!

Darcy was taking a break from work reports and trying a recipe from Marc Vetri’s _Mastering Pasta,_ when her phone rang. It was Sharon Carter. “Hey, Sharon,” Darcy said. “What’s going on?”

“Um. I need a tiny, tiny favor. Rumlow’s mother is in town and she needs to get something out of the apartment,” Sharon explained. “Would you mind if I brought her by?”

“Oh, yeah, sure,” Darcy said. “Come on up. I’m covered in flour, but I’m dressed.”

“She says okay,” Darcy heard Sharon say to someone. Twenty minutes later, the doorbell rang and Darcy opened the door. Sharon was standing there with an older, dark-haired woman. They looked distinctly like an odd couple: Sharon was wearing one of her dark blue SHIELD pantsuits, blonde hair pulled back in a tidy bun. The other woman was wearing a tiger-striped yellow caftan and big chunky jewelry. Her dark hair haloed her head and she was tanned. You couldn’t miss her, Darcy thought. Her outfit had personality.

“Hi!” Darcy said. “I’m sorry, I’m cooking.” She smiled. “You must be Mrs. Rumlow?” Darcy asked, stepping aside. 

“Thanks,” Sharon said. Darcy thought her smile looked a little strained. 

“It’s very nice to meet you,” Mrs. Rumlow said, sounding less happy.

“I love your caftan,” Darcy said. “Very Liz Taylor in Iran.” Sharon telegraphed something with her eyebrows, so Darcy kept talking. “You’ve never seen that photoshoot? It was during her caftan phase and before she married the construction guy. Just gorgeous photos of her at the Blue Mosque.”

“They let her in Iran?” Sharon said.

“Before the revolution, I think,” Darcy said. Mrs. Rumlow was peering around the apartment.

“I thought you were a scientist?” she asked Darcy suddenly. Darcy realized she’d left a ton of cookbooks lying around. And her lingerie was hanging to dry in the bathroom. Whoops.

“I am,” Darcy said.

“She has a PhD,” Sharon added. “In astrophysics.” Darcy nodded.

“But you cook?” Mrs. Rumlow asked, scrutinizing the kitchen island. Darcy had been trying to roll out a pasta dough. The counter was cluttered with ingredients. There was flour everywhere.

“I’m trying to teach myself homemade pasta,” Darcy explained. “I mostly bake cakes, but I want to get into real food.” She sighed. “Something’s wrong with my dough.” Mrs. Rumlow looked at her supplies, frowning. She picked up one of the bags and looked at it, eyes narrowed.

“It’s your flour,” she declared, sounding authoritative. “You get fresh flour with more protein, that’s the secret to good pasta.”

“Let me write that down,” Darcy said, looking for a notepad.

“I’ll help you, honey,” Mrs. Rumlow announced. “We’ll go to the store together.”

“What?” Sharon said. “I thought you were going to the Smithsonian--”

“The Smithsonian will be open, she needs help with her dough,” Mrs. Rumlow said. “You call me Angela,” she told Darcy. “And you don’t worry, I can take an Uber back to my hotel.” This was directed at Sharon. Angela had already taken off her rings and bracelets and started looking through Darcy’s cabinets. 

“I don’t know what’s happening,” Sharon whispered to Darcy. “I was just supposed to pick her up from the airport!”

“It’s okay,” Darcy said. “I do need help with my dough.”

* * *

They ended up having a really good time. Sharon had to leave early for a field training exercise, but Darcy and Angela did a supply run. Then Angela demonstrated how to make dough for ravioli. “I need to knead like that,” Darcy repeated, trying to memorize Angela’s movements. It felt daunting. She’d been put in charge of making a ricotta and fresh nutmeg filling for the ravioli. Fillings, she could do those. She'd cranked her nutmeg grater until it left a faint dusting of spice over the bowl of ricotta.

“You’ll be fine,” Angela said. She smiled at Darcy. “You try, honey.”

“Okay,” Darcy said. It took her three attempts, but she finally got the hang of it without overworking the dough. “Ahhh!” Darcy said, bouncing on her heels a little as the dough went through the machine and came out in thin, beautiful sheets. “I have to take a photo for Jane!” she said excitedly.

“Who is Jane?” Angela asked. “Your girlfriend?” Her voice was nonjudgemental. Darcy thought it was sweet.

“No, Jane is my best friend, ex-boss, and general terror,” Darcy confided. “She made me bake again after my boyfriend dumped me. This was recently. I used to bake a lot when I worked for her.”

“Oh,” Angela said.

“Jane is Jane Foster,” Darcy said. “She and Thor had a little romance, it was in the magazines--”

“Oh my God,” Angela said. “Jane Foster!”

“Yep,” Darcy said, nodding. “I was her assistant.”

“Honey, you’re famous,” Angela said. Darcy made a face.

“I’m just famous-adjacent,” she said.

“But you’re not seeing anyone right now?” Angela said.

“Nope,” Darcy said. “All I want to see is pappardelle. I’m swearing off men for awhile and working on my pastas.” Angela laughed. 

“You do that, the right man will come along,” Angela said.

“That’s what I think,” Darcy said. “Jane agrees, but she had a handsome prince literally fall out of the sky. He almost landed on our van. She might be biased.” That made Angela laugh so hard, she had to hold her abdomen and literally wept.

“Stop! Stop!” she begged. 

“Do you want to try Fragonards with me?” Darcy asked, when they had a pile of pasta to cook. “It’s Nigella Lawson’s version of a bellini, except with puréed strawberries instead of peaches.”

“Ooooh,” Angela said. “Yes!”

“Okey dokey,” Darcy said, getting a carton of strawberries from the fridge. She hummed to herself as Angela went to the bathroom and she blitzed the strawberries.

“Honey,” Angela said, as she returned, “you’ve got beautiful things in here.”

“What things?”

“The lingerie!” Angela said. Darcy laughed.

“Oh. That’s my fancy lady unmentionables,” Darcy cracked, remembering she’d left things to air dry in the bathroom. “I’m spoiling myself. Jane sent me this article about treating myself the way I want to be treated in a relationship.” She poured the strawberries into two slender flutes, then retrieved her prosecco bottle. “Here we go,” Darcy said, beaming, as she poured in the sparkling wine. It fizzed to the top edge of the glasses. "Yay!" She looked up at Angela.

“You keep working on your pasta,” Angela repeated. “The right man will come along.”

* * *

“Hey, Ma,” Brock said, seeing his mother’s name appear on his phone. He was in a hotel room in Latin America. His team was covertly buying back equipment that HYDRA had smuggled out of SHIELD.

“Where are you?” his mother asked, whispering. He moved the phone closer to his ear, straining to hear Angela.

“You know I can’t say---why are you whispering?” he asked, frowning. His mother was supposed to be in DC for a little vacation. He’d asked Carter to pick her up from the airport. He looked at his watch and realized it was one in the morning on the east coast.

“Darcy’s asleep,” his mother said. 

“Who?” he said.

“The girl subleasing your apartment!” his mother said urgently. 

“Oh,” he said. “What are you doing there?”

“I wanted to make sure she wasn’t HYDRA,” Angela told him.

“Ma,” he said. “We’ve been through this, you cannot tell by looking at somebody.”

“I knew with that Senator Stern,” she insisted. “I could tell. Whenever he was on CNN, I knew he wasn’t trustworthy. Then one day, they’re arresting him on the television and Maria Hill is calling to tell me you’ve got burns over eighty percent of your body and you were briefly dead.”

“Yes, Ma,” Brock said, deciding to humor her. Helen Cho had healed his burns after they’d gotten as much use out of his Crossbones alias as possible. Now he was just mentally scarred. He paused. “Is this scientist HYDRA, huh?” he asked lightly.

“No. No. She’s _wonderful,”_ his mother said. “That’s why I’m calling. You’ve got to come home.”

“What?” Brock said.

“She’s got a PhD, she’s beautiful, she cooks and she just broke up with somebody, you’ve got to get back here,” his mother said. “Somebody is going to snap her up. People like this don’t stay single!” 

“Jesus, Ma,” he said. “You didn’t try to talk me up, did you?”

“Of course not,” his mother said. “I can’t talk you up--you’re fifty, you’ve never been married. What would she think? That you’re a sad single man or too weird to keep a woman---” 

“I’m forty-seven,” he grumbled. “And I don’t have kids, that’s a plus.”

“Uh-huh,” Angela said skeptically.

“I own my own home,” he argued. “I’m handsome and in good shape!”

“That’s why she has to see you in person,” his mother stressed. “To overcome your flaws on paper.” 

“I’m good on paper,” he muttered.

“Not good enough for this girl. She knows Thor!” his mother insisted. “She’s special, I’m telling you.”

“Yeah,” Brock said. “Sure.” He shook his head slowly. “Have you been drinking?”

“Are you being sarcastic?” she asked.

“You said the same thing when you set me up with that cousin of your friend Kathy with the lazy eye,” he complained.

“She had that fixed and she’s very sweet girl,” Angela said. “She’s married now. Two kids. You’d have been lucky if she’d wanted you. But you didn’t impress her with all your stories about falling into trees and being drunk. Christina was a very sensible girl.”

“I don’t want a sensible girl, Ma,” Brock complained. 

“Just come home,” his mother said. “Meet Darcy. She’d be so good for you.”

“I can’t, I’ve got a job to finish,” he said.

“You are too damn stubborn,” she grumbled. “You get it from your father.” There was a moment of silence on the line. That meant she was really vexed. Brock couldn’t help it; he grinned to himself.

“What were you going to do if you thought she was HYDRA?” he said, the thought occurring to him suddenly.

“That’s why I brought Sharon,” his mother said. “She’s very effective and she knows everybody.”

“I know everybody,” he countered.

“Pffht,” his mother scoffed. He heard glasses clinking.

“What are you doing?” he asked.

“She made Fragonards,” his mother said. “It’s bellinis, but with strawberry.” He heard her take a sip on the line.

“Rossinis,” Brock said. 

“Huh?”

“In Italy, they call those Rossinis,” he repeated. “That’s the actual name. Not whatever this chick calls ‘em.”

“Well, thank you, Anthony Bourdain,” Angela grumbled.

“You just don’t like being corrected,” he said. Brock laughed. “I can’t believe you want me to meet the woman who got you drunk. You’re seventy, Ma.”

“You hush, I don’t look a day over sixty-three, everyone says so,” Angela told him. 

"I thought you were there to do the museums with Kathy," he said.

"I put Kathy off for a day to make sure you weren't murdered in your own bed," his mother said. "We're doing the museums tomorrow."

  
  
  


* * *

Darcy stumbled out of bed and started making pancakes, just out of habit. Pancakes were Thor’s favorite hangover food. And she was definitely hungover. The sweet champagne and strawberries had gone straight to her brain. “Ughhhhh, hello, good morning,” she said, when Angela came out of her son’s room.

“Is that food?” Angela said. 

“Pecan pancakes, do you want some?” Darcy said.

“Yes,” Angela said, sitting down. They ate quietly, drinking coffee. Darcy had dolloped sour cream on each plate. “That’s good, sour cream. I make ricotta pancakes.”

“Send me the recipe?” Darcy asked. Angela nodded. Darcy looked at her and had a thought. “You haven’t talked about your son much?” she said.

“He’s very handsome, he gets that from me,” Angela said. She picked up her coffee cup. “The stupid and stubborn, he gets that from his father.”

If she hadn’t had a headache, Darcy would have burst out laughing.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nigella's Fragonard cocktail is actually in my copy of Nigella Fresh (published as Nigella Summer in other places, I believe?) but you can find it online, too: https://www.npr.org/2011/04/28/135735845/royal-recipes-a-wedding-breakfast-fit-for-a-queen
> 
> A really sweet video about Elizabeth Taylor's 1976 trip to Iran: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EVaePpj8GjM


	3. The Perfect Partner

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *I own nothing!

During her metro ride to SHIELD one morning, Darcy sat down and scrawled a list of activities she’d do if she were dating someone or things she’d want the perfect partner to do for her:  
  
  


  * _Flowers. It doesn’t have to be roses, any flower is nice_


  * _Movie nights at least once a week_


  * _Supporting my hobbies, like baking, and my career (Jane says submit articles)_


  * _Checking out more DC landmarks and museums_


  * _Playing relaxing music in the apartment to unwind after work_


  * _Trips to the library (free movies + entertainment)_


  * _Long baths (use Jane’s bath bombs)_


  * _More lingerie_


  * _Romantic dinners at home_


  * _Little, not $$ presents and surprises regularly(books, socks, baking supplies, scarves and hats, bringing me coffee)_


  * _Go pet a llama/alpaca/adoptable pet someplace_


  * _Fun conversations (? podcasts--call Jane to brainstorm alternatives)_


  * _Trying new coffees and cheeses_


  * _Compliments and positivity_



She doodled a little smiley face next to the last item on her list. It was a little messy, but it was a start.

* * *

“What’s that?” Cam asked, sticking his head around the door of Darcy’s lab. Darcy looked over her shoulder. She was hanging a black letter board so she could put funny things on it.

“This is my new funny quote board,” Darcy explained. 

“Oh,” Cam said, eyes drifting around the lab. Darcy worked mostly alone. Maria was making noises about getting her an assistant, but Darcy wasn’t sure if she wanted one yet. She wanted her assistant to bring good vibes. “Somebody send you flowers?” he asked, seeing the bouquet on Darcy’s desk.

“Yup,” Darcy said. “Me.”

“What?” he said. He’d made a cute curious face.

“I’m wooing myself,” Darcy said. “I bought myself flowers. And one of my friends has a letter board that she and her husband put funny things on and I’ve always thought that would be a fun couples’ activity. Except why should I wait until I have a boyfriend again?”

“Why should you wait,” Cam repeated, nodding. “Solid reasoning.”

“I think so,” Darcy agreed. “I could get hit by a bus or something.”

“Or an alien could fall on you,” Cam said.

“It has almost happened,” she said. “So, I’m doing all my couple-y things now.” Cam nodded again. “Did you want a cookie?” Darcy asked. She suspected he came by looking for snacks, like a curious puppy.

“Yes,” he said alertly. She laughed and pointed him towards the cookies. 

“They’re shortbread cookies with lemon curd or raspberry jam in them,” Darcy said. His eyes lit up.

“I love raspberry and lemon. What else are you doing? Going on dates?” he asked, between bites. His voice was slightly muffled. Darcy looked back from where she was arranging the white letters on the board, grinning.

“Kinda? I’ve been teaching myself how to make homemade pasta and I went to a bunch of free museums with Angela Rumlow and her friend last week,” Darcy said. “Brock Rumlow’s mom?”

“You went to museums with Rumlow’s mom?” Cam said, looking stunned. He had a bit of raspberry jam on his nose.

“She’s really nice,” Darcy said. “We did the Smithsonian and the National Galley and a bunch of restaurants. She thinks I should get a Kitchenaid mixer now, not wait until I get married like a lot of people.” She tilted her head thoughtfully. “But I can’t decide what color mixer that I’d want…”

“Yeah,” Cam said. He was grinning. He read the words aloud on her board. _“Fury said I could?”_

“I’m just not going to specify what,” Darcy joked. 

“Good idea,” Cam said. 

“You’ve got a little schmutz, honey,” Darcy said, touching her nose. She’d picked that phrase up from Angela. 

“Thanks,” Cam said, blushing. He cleaned his face, then went for a lemon cookie. “I can’t believe you’re friends with Rumlow’s mom,” he said.

“She’s great,” Darcy said. She needed to look at the Kitchenaid colors online, Darcy thought. “Do you think a Kitchenaid is too expensive?”

“How much does it cost?” Cam wondered.

“I think it’s like two or three hundred dollars,” Darcy mused. She already felt like she’d spent enough on new lingerie.

“You could always save up for it,” Cam offered. “My brother and I have a Nationals tickets fund. We both put in twenty bucks a week and all our money whenever one of us beats the other at board games.”

“Cool,” Darcy said.

“And we have plans to do a half-marathon,” Cam said. 

When she got home, Darcy was looking up recipes on Pinterest when she got an idea for a fun project. She went to the cabinet and got one of her landlord’s empty protein shake bottles out of the cabinet. She’d never use it for drinks, but it would make a great Kitchenaid fund jar. She scrawled the name on a Post-It--surrounded by little stars--and taped it to the cup. Then put a few dollars from her wallet inside the bottle and snapped a photo for Angela. 

**Former World’s Okayest Assistant:** My Kitchenaid Fund 

**Former World’s Okayest Assistant:** It gives me time to decide on a color

Angela sent her an encouraging message back. It was really very sweet. She told her mom and Jane about it, too. And her whole new life plan. Her mom, Liz, was very enthusiastic. “I think you should get a sea glass Kitchenaid,” she told Darcy. That was the pretty pale blue-green.

“Hmmm,” Darcy said. “I was thinking about Cranberry. I wonder if I could find a used one?”

“Ew,” Liz said. “No. I don’t want you getting other people’s germs.”

“Mom,” Darcy sighed. “I can literally put everything in the dishwasher and clean the mixer really well. Don’t worry.”

“Just make sure you clean it _really_ well,” her mom said. “And don’t get murdered on Facebook marketplace, you're my favorite child.” Darcy laughed.

“I'm your only child! I promise I won’t,” she said. “Besides, I’m in no rush. I’m enjoying the anticipation of getting one, it's part of my life plan.”

“I like this plan of yours,” her mom said. “You know my opinion on Ian.”

“Boring,” Darcy parroted her mom.

“He had no sense of humor! You need a fun person. You’re a fun person,” Liz said. “And you know how I feel about getting married.”

“Don’t get married, but if you have to, marry a man whose mother is dead,” Darcy said, repeating her mother’s oldest joke. Liz had raised Darcy as a single mom and had wanted her daughter to be independent. “There are no mothers-in-law on the horizon, I promise you,” she told Liz. “I’m very busy watching movies with myself, baking, and doing other stuff.”

“Good,” her mother said.

“Oh! I made an appointment to go pet a llama this weekend, it’s very exciting,” Darcy said. “There’s a place here.”

Those were the kinds of thing that Darcy wanted to do as a couple, so she was doing them by herself. She was actually scheduling her activities, like she would have date nights with Ian. Monday night movie nights with different kinds of popcorn, one or twice a month walks around DC’s landmarks or free museum visits, trips to the grocery store where she tried a new coffee and a cheese for that week. It was startling how much fun it was to have a routine to look forward to. Darcy looked for inspiration all over the place: she got cookbooks from the library, read reviews of DC restaurants and shops, and watched PBS travel documentaries to inspire herself to cook new things; that made her branch out into library yoga DVDs (she liked lying on a mat in her new living room and breathing loudly), warming up her blankets in the dryer before she went to bed, and hanging twinkle lights all around the apartment. Then Jane suggested she leave positive notes for herself, so Darcy tacked happiness-themed Post-Its on her mirror and the fridge. Small things made a bigger difference than she’d thought they would. 

Angela’s son wouldn’t mind, she thought. Much.

* * *

Darcy was happy. Having a really great time, actually. Everyone commented on how happy she looked at work. She’d brought in chocolate cookies with chocolate and espresso chips and changed her letter board to read _websites: using cookies to improve performance; me: same_ one morning, when Sharon swung by to talk to her. “What are you up to?” Sharon asked.

“I have brand new data on anomalies,” Darcy said, looking at her laptop screen. 

“Not work,” Sharon said, making a face. She looked at the plate of cookies. “May I?” 

“Of course,” Darcy said. Sharon swiped a cookie.

“I meant your fun things. What are you doing this week?” Sharon asked.

“Let’s see,” Darcy said. “I’ve got a sample of a new Cookiedoodle flavored coffee to try, a Shiva Rea _Yoga in Greece_ DVD from the library, and some goat cheese that I’m probably going to make red pepper crostini with. Or a salad with goat cheese. And uhhhh, a new recipe for a Milk Chocolate Chip cake.”

“That all sounds fun,” Sharon said. “But would you mind being set up with somebody? One of the STRIKE guys is single and Natasha Romanoff is helping him.”

“Huh?” Darcy said. “The Black Widow sets people up?”

“It’s her hobby, she’s relentless,” Sharon said. "She sets people up the way that you like to bake."

“That sounds ominous,” Darcy said. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I borrowed the idea for a funny letter board from @winchesterxgirl and her husband because a.) they're geniuses and b.) it seemed like a Darcy thing!


	4. Meet Ugly

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *I own nothing!

“So,” her date said. “What do you do upstairs?” Darcy looked at the man across the table. Sharon had--with the input of the actual Black Widow, shockingly--set Darcy up with one of SHIELD’s terrifying jackboots. This guy was a blonde named Fitzgerald.

“Astrophysics,” Darcy said. This was the first word she’d gotten in for the entire date. He’d been monologuing about himself the entire time. Darcy was fairly sure he’d just stolen some of his so-called impressive anecdotes from Captain America’s record, based on things Cameron Klein had mentioned at work over the last several weeks. Cam was a big Cap fan. She’d had to ask for a refill of the bread basket, just to have something to do. She was completely bored. She’d tried to actually talk to him, but he’d barely let her speak. 

“Theoretical stuff, huh?” Fitzgerald said, in a smug voice. He dropped his eyes to the bread in her hands. “So, I guess you don’t have to pass the physical, right?” he cracked. Darcy tilted her head as he sipped his drink.

“But I do pass plenty of things,” she told him, thinking, _like you, dickhead._ When he got up to go to the mens’ room, she passed cash for her drink and a tip to their waitress and left. She was fairly sure he’d be a shitty tipper. Darcy hated people who were cheap like that. She left the restaurant and walked down to a coffee shop to call an Uber. It was still early.

* * *

When she got home, she called Jane and Angela to check-in. Her mother was working late, Darcy knew. And she’d kept in close touch with her landlord’s mother after Angela went back to New York a few weeks ago. Angela was a total sweetheart; she had even overnighted Darcy some fresh pasta from a famous place in her neighborhood called Borgatti’s. “Hey!” Darcy said, when the call connected to both women. They had a routine of watching TV together a few nights a week.

“How was your date?” Angela asked.

“You’re home already?” Jane said.

“I left before we ordered. He both sucked and blew--and not the good kind,” Darcy joked. She’d been hoping it would be a good date and she’d actually get some. She missed sex. Now she was just changing out of her date dress and good underwear. She’d started hanging out in her nightgowns and babydolls, just to feel cute. That crack about not passing the physical had hit her in a soft spot. Jerkface, she thought. She was cute. 

“Awww,” Jane said.

“Are we joking about sex? Because I have a joke,” Angela said. “Or a story.”

“Is this another story about your son?” Jane said avidly. Last week, they’d watched _The Crown_ together and Angela’s daughter Fallon had gotten on the line and told a story about her brother getting in poison ivy when he’d been sneaking around with a girl in a park. Darcy was still trying to mentally imagine the ostensibly-terrifying ex-STRIKE commander with calamine-coated butt cheeks, as she walked into the kitchen. She’d only seen him in photos, but he didn’t seem like the type to laugh at himself. Stunningly handsome, but serious. Which practically required Darcy to bring it up if they ever met.

“No! No, this is about vibrators, Fallon sent me a review,” Angela said. “It’s hilarious.”

“Is this the one where the woman threw her back out using it the first time?” Jane said. “I love that one.”

“That’s the one!” Angela said.

“Um, excuse me, one, is everybody reading about vibrators without me?” Darcy said. “Unfair!”

“I’ll send you the link,” Jane said. 

“Thank you. And two, I need to tell you about how my date implied that I couldn’t pass SHIELD’s fitness test!” Darcy said, spraying her cake pans with Baker’s Joy, then remembering to put on her apron over the babydoll. “He basically called me out of shape,” she added grimly.

“Ugh,” Jane said. “What a tool.”

“Honey, you’re gorgeous, don’t pay him any mind,” Angela said.

“You should’ve cussed him out,” Jane said.

“I just paid for my drink, tipped the waitress, and left while he was in the bathroom,” Darcy said. “I’ve never ghosted on a date before.”

“She’s too nice,” Angela said.

“I agree,” Jane said. “I’ve been trying to teach her to be more assertive.”

“She wants me to slap people,” Darcy said. She set her phone on the kitchen counter and hit the speakerphone button. “But I’m making Milk Chocolate Chip Cake instead.” She’d put most of her dry ingredients out on the counter that afternoon. She popped some butter into the microwave for a few seconds to soften it, then dumped it in her mixer bowl. “This is my coping mechanism,” Darcy added.

“You’ll be fine,” Angela said. 

“That sounds good,” Jane said.

“It has mini chocolate chips in the batter,” Darcy said, flicking on the switch. The mixer whirred to life. “And the frosting is milk chocolate.” She was making it for Cam. Maybe he would finally ask her out. She thought he would be fun to date, at least. And she could do casual. Seriously. She was seriously interested in something casual and fun. “What are we watching tonight?” she asked, shifting the phone to her ear.

“Ohh, I found a new thing! _Cable Girls._ It’s a Spanish soap set in the twenties,” Jane said. “All these girls move to the big city and work for the phone company, there’s a love triangle, lesbian socialists, and a trans guy.”

“That sounds fun,” Angela said.

“I wish I was a flapper lesbian socialist working for the phone company,” Darcy said dryly, adding in her dry ingredients. Angela laughed. 

“Where’s Thor?” Angela asked.

“Asleep,” Jane said.

“Awwwww,” Angela said.

“That means she boinked his brains out,” Darcy said. She cut open the bag of mini chocolate chips and added slightly more than the recipe called for. 

“I did, but bite me,” Jane grumbled.

“I’m jealous,” Darcy confessed. “I want to meet somebody, but I hate blind dates. It’s so much more fun to watch Netflix with you guys.” She sighed. “Why is dating so difficult and yet so boring at the same time?”

“Everything will work out,” Angela said, sounding oddly calm.

“It totally will,” Jane said reassuringly. “You’ve been so happy lately!”

“I know!” Darcy said. “I just got hit by a mega dose of fratboy and it rocked my mojo.” Her oven dinged. “Oh, that’s my oven all preheated. Let me get these pans in and we’ll start the show.”

“Now she sounds like herself,” Angela told Jane.

They’d finished two episodes of _Cable Girls,_ her cake was on the counter, it was after midnight, and yet Darcy was still awake. Jane and Angela had both ended the call and presumably gone to bed, but Darcy had energy. She had already frosted the cake, googled Alba’s red lipstick on _Cable Girls_ , and channel-surfed. She clicked on the link from Jane to that vibrator review, laughed at the long description of orgasms, and impulsively decided to order herself one, clicking _add to cart_. Alone fun was better than no fun at all. 

* * *

The trip back to DC had been a surprise. Rumlow hadn’t even been able to get a message to the new tenant, this scientist that Carter had found and his mother liked so much. He shouldn’t have gotten rid of his fucking landline, he thought. It was too late to call his mother. But he needed a place to crash for a few days and fresh clothes. Rumlow knocked, but there was no answer. He checked his watch. It was just after one am. He’d have to let himself in, he realized. Rumlow unlocked his apartment door quietly and stepped inside, dropping his go-bag soundlessly. “Hello?” Rumlow said. He looked around. There were Christmas lights around his TV. All he could hear was the television going quietly. “Hello?” he repeated. There was no answer. But he could smell cookies or something like cookies. That was when he saw there was a figure lying on his couch. She was asleep. Rumlow moved over and tilted his head, studying the woman. “Christ,” he muttered. He felt his mouth drop open and closed it. She _was_ gorgeous. His mother hadn’t been exaggerating. Her hair—long and dark—spilled over one of his couch cushions. A pair of glasses was half-tilted on her nose, drawing his eyes to her full mouth and pale skin. But the real surprise was her clothing: she was wearing a flimsy bit of red lingerie over voluptuous curves. He swallowed. A host of adjectives had flooded his brain, starting with _beguiling_ and moving towards _luscious._ Everything about this woman was feminine and lush. She had the most stunning pair of tits he’d ever seen, barely held by lace. He raked his eyes down her body. The bottom edge of the--the thing she was wearing was hitched up over one rounded hip, revealing an expanse of thigh. She had pale legs. Plump, soft-looking legs. He felt dazzled. She stirred and he shook himself mentally, stepping backwards. He shouldn’t crowd her. She’d be freaked out enough when she woke up and he was in the apartment. He pulled out his phone and dialed, moving into the kitchen. There were more lights around the top of the cabinet. Had she redecorated? She’d certainly left a mark, he thought, grinning to himself. Rumlow had to stop to shake himself again, feeling like a wet dog. There was a cake on the counter. “Ma,” he said wryly into his mother’s voicemail, “you’ve undersold—”

Then he felt the tiny landing of something on his back and the hot jolt of electricity between his shoulder blades.

* * *

There was someone in the apartment with her, Darcy had realized, freezing in terror. He had turned towards the kitchen and she’d grabbed one of her tasers, stowed on a keychain, as quietly as possible, creeping up behind him. She hit him with all the taser’s voltage and heard the whir of the current. But he didn’t fall. Instead he turned—reaching over his shoulders for the prongs—and she thought she recognized him from a photo in the apartment.

“Rumlow?” Darcy said, horrified. He’d pried the prongs off his shirt like the current was nothing. 

“You tased me,” he said, looking both surprised and amused. He appeared totally unaffected by the taser, even as its charge faded. It was him, she saw, in the brighter light from the kitchen. The man had great cheekbones. “You tased me in my own apartment.” He sounded amused, but she wasn’t sure.

“Oh, shit, oh shit. I’m sorry,” Darcy began. “I thought you were a murderer--”

“You tased me and you look like that,” he added, smirking. Darcy looked down and realized she’d fallen asleep in her babydoll. Something about his tone pissed her off. Darcy thought he was making fun of her.

“I can tase you again,” she said scornfully. The bastard had the nerve to laugh at her.

She’d gone to get a bathrobe and come back into the kitchen when she found him peering into the fridge. “There’s a lot of food in here,” he said, sounding mildly critical.

“I cook,” Darcy said. “Would you like something to eat?” Mentally, she added the word _asshole_ to the end of the sentence. “Also,” she added, “your sister told me that story about you and Rita Vitello getting in the poison ivy, so you’ve got no room to laugh at me for sleeping like this.”

“What?” he said.

“I heard you couldn’t sit in a chair normally for weeks,” Darcy said.

“You been talking about me?” Rumlow said, grinning.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Milk Chocolate Chip Cake! http://thewoodandspoon.com/milk-chocolate-chip-cake/


	5. Not In Compliance With Plans

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *I own nothing!

“He’s a jerk,” Darcy told Jane over the phone. She’d called at work the next day. “I can’t believe his Angela’s son! I offered him some of my leftovers as a post-tasing apology thing--it was homemade pappardelle with butternut squash and blue cheese--and he just looked at me like I was a nutcase.”

“Is that good? That sounds good,” Jane said.

“Yeah, it’s a Nigella recipe,” Darcy said. “I’ll forward you the link. I just buy the butternut squash already cubed because squash is big ol’ b, you know?”

“Yeah,” Jane said doubtfully.

“Just trust me, squash is a difficult vegetable. But this is a good recipe! I made my own pasta and it has pine nuts. I season the onions with paprika,” Darcy said. “But does the weird nighttime creeper want any? Oh, no. He doesn’t eat stuff like that, he says. But then he eats all of it.”

“So, he did eat it?” Jane said. “I’m confused.”

“He ate it. All of my pappardelle _and_ a slice of my lemon blueberry jam cake, which I made for Cam as a surprise, because he brought me back cute socks from that trip he went on with Hill and Fury,” Darcy said. 

“Has Cam asked you out yet?” Jane said abruptly.

“No,” Darcy said, glumly.

“So, that’s your actual problem?” Jane said, voice canny.

“Shut up, I _like_ him,” Darcy groused. “As a person and everything. Think of our adorable curly haired babies.” She sighed. “And I want to get laid, okay?” she whispered. 

“Uh-huh,” Jane said.

“I like myself and it’s been a while,” Darcy said. “Don’t I deserve affection and attention? Wait, I don’t sound like one of those angry celibate people on the internet, do I?”

“Noooo,” Jane said.

“Oh God, I do, don’t I?” Darcy said.

“You really don’t,” Jane said reassuringly.

“At least Brock Rumlow is only staying a week,” Darcy said, sighing. 

“I can’t believe his name is actually Brock Rumlow,” Jane said. “I wonder why Angela named him that?”

“There was a character named Brock on _The Young and the Restless,”_ Darcy explained. “She thought it had flair. She didn’t want her kids to have boring names. Everyone in the neighborhood was scandalized.” Angela had told her a lot about her older son.

“Oh,” Jane said. “That’s hilarious. His name is from a soap opera!”

“He’s seen me in my fancy babydoll,” Darcy said. “The whole thing is horrible.”

“At least it wasn’t your rattiest period underwear,” Jane said consolingly.

“He doesn’t even seem embarrassed about the poison ivy story, that was gonna be my ultimate blackmail to counter him telling everyone about my clothes,” Darcy said. “He’s probably telling everybody about my unmentionables now. My unmentionables are being mentioned!”

“Huh,” Jane said.

“What?” Darcy said.

“I dunno, I sort of thought Angela was trying to set you up with him?” Jane said.

“She’s never mentioned anything,” Darcy said.

“That’s exactly what I mean,” Jane said. “Doesn’t she seem very _careful_ whenever she talks about him to you?”

“Careful?” Darcy asked, confused.

“She did not want Fallon telling that poison ivy story,” Jane said. 

“Huh. I did not get that at all,” Darcy said, scrunching her nose. “Well, if that’s true, he’s totally not in compliance with her plans.”

* * *

“Carter, I need you to help me find a project,” Rumlow announced, plopping down in the chair in front of her desk. He stretched out his legs.

“What?” Sharon said, looking over from her report. She’d missed the first half of the sentence. 

“I want to stay in town,” he said. “I’m in love with her.”

“What? Who?” Sharon said, eyebrows going up.

“Darcy,” he said. 

“You don’t even like people,” she told Rumlow automatically. She hadn’t meant to say it like that, it was just reflex. Everyone knew Rumlow was all discipline and zero socialibility; whatever the opposite of chill and people-oriented was, that was him. The dark haired man in front her made a face. He waved his hand dismissively.

“She’s not people,” he said. “This is different.”

“Okay,” she said slowly. 

“I never thought love at first sight was a real fucking thing--” he mused. Sharon gaped at him.

“You’re kidding,” she said.

“No,” he said flatly. “Why would I fucking kid about this?” 

“Uhhhh,” Sharon said. “She just doesn’t seem like your type? She’s uh--” Sharon wanted to say words like _normal_ and _pleasant to be around._ At that, he made a face she’d never seen before, grinning widely. Was he actually happy, Sharon wondered?

“She tased me last night,” he said. “I woke her up and she tased me--”

“She tased Thor, too,” Sharon supplied. “It’s kind of her thing.”

“She’s that assistant? Shit,” Rumlow said, beaming. 

“What?” Sharon said.

“My heart,” he said, touching his chest. “I bet she didn’t tase Thor in her lingerie, though.” He looked delighted. 

“You surprised her in her underwear?” Sharon said, horrified.

“I didn’t mean to,” he said. “You ever have pappardelle with blue cheese and squash?” he asked.

“No,” Sharon said, confused.

“She’s a fantastic cook,” he said.

“The whole office knows that,” Sharon told him. “Everyone loves her food.” He sat up a little straighter.

“Do I have competition?” he asked, looking alert. He made a face. “Of course I do,” he said out loud. “Lots of competition.” He looked thoughtful.

“I think she likes guys like Cam,” Sharon told him.

“I can work a fucking computer,” Rumlow said defensively. He rubbed his hands together. “She’s probably got all kinds of interest, right?”

“Um,” Sharon said. “Yes? I know the date with Fitzgerald didn’t go well, because he has latent asshole tendencies whenever he sees cleavage, apparently.” Brock grinned.

“It’s great cleavage,” he said.

“I would _not_ be that guy, if i were you,” she told him sharply. He held his hands up in surrender.

“My feelings are pure and true, Carter,” he insisted. She rolled her eyes. He continued musing. “I gotta up my game. I can’t believe Ma was right,” he said. At Sharon’s look, he continued. “You brought my mother to meet Darcy,” Rumlow said. “And she called me up, just raving about how great Darcy was. Of course, I don’t listen, because Ma’s been trying to marry me off since 2002--”

“You should probably apologize to your mother,” Sharon said dryly.

“No shit,” he said, beaming. “God, she’s great.”

“It weirds me out when you smile like that,” Sharon said, deciding he really was happy. How odd. “Cut it out.”

“I can’t be happy?” Brock said. Sharon wondered if she should tell him. He must’ve read it in her expression. “What?” he said.

“Do you know about her, um, project thing?” Sharon said. “She had a bad breakup recently, so she’s been doing things for herself that she’d want a guy to do--cooking, buying herself flowers, going on outings by herself, all kinds of things.”

“She likes flowers?” he said, sitting up a fraction. “What else?”

“Yes,” Sharon said, wondering if she shouldn’t have said anything. “Flowers and coffee?” She heard her own voice go wistful. “It’s really nice. She tries a new coffee and a new yoga DVD from the library every week. She has a whole list of things.” 

“Oh, yeah?” he said, looking serious. “Carter, I will get you anything you want, if you can get me that list.”

“It’s not a physical list,” Sharon said, shocked. “It’s something she has in her head. I think.”

“Well, tell me the things and I’ll write ‘em down,” he said, pulling out his phone. “This is my soulmate we’re talking about.”

“You’re ridiculous,” Sharon said. But she reeled off everything she could think of. So what if he ran around town buying Darcy flowers and baking supplies? Sharon felt confident that Darcy could handle him. “And she wants one of those fancy Kitchenaid mixers,” she told him. “She’s saving up money, apparently.”

“Okay,” Rumlow said, nodding.

* * *

Darcy was changing her letter board when she heard footsteps at the edge of her lab. “Don’t read the next sentence,” a male voice read over her shoulder. It was Rumlow. “What’s the rest say?” he asked, sounding curious.

“You little rebel. I like you,” Darcy said, placing the last vowels. Behind her, he laughed. She turned to face him for the first time and her jaw dropped.

“I brought you flowers,” he said. His arms were full of pink and red roses.

“I see that,” Darcy said, surprised. “They’re beautiful.”

“Do they make up for me scaring you last night?” he asked, smirking at her. 

“Yes,” she said, taking the cellophane-wrapped bundle from him and gazing at the flowers happily. She’d glanced up when she realized he was looking at her with a strange expression. “I might still be pissed at you for eating all my pappardelle, though.” She put her free hand on her hips and mock-glared at him. He smiled more widely.

“I’ll take you to dinner tonight,” he said. “Make up for it.”

“No can do, I’m watching _Cable Girls_ with your mother,” Darcy said. At his blank expression, she added. “It’s a Netflix show. We binge watch and we’re in the middle of a big storyline for Alba, Carlos, and Francisco. Me, Jane Foster, your mom.” That would show him, she thought. Nobody liked it when you threatened them with their own mother, right?

“Okay,” he said. “I’ll get us takeout or something. What time do we start?” 

“W--what?” Darcy said.

“What kinda restaurants do you like? Carter says you do a new coffee every week. You wanna try a new place, since you’re new in town?” he asked smoothly, as if she hadn’t stuttered. “We could try a few places you’ve never been while I’m here?”

“Okay,” Darcy said, realizing he’d talked to Sharon about her activities. “Sure.”

“Great,” he said. “Can I put these in water for you?” He gestured towards the roses.

“Uh, yeah,” Darcy said, nodding, “yeah. My vase is that big smiley face mug.” That made him laugh. 

“That’s great,” he said. He kept smiling at her and asking her questions until he had to leave for a meeting. It was majorly weird, Darcy thought. It bugged her all afternoon. Darcy thought about it as she drove home. She stepped into the apartment after work and found him in the kitchen. 

“Hello,” Darcy said. It was odd for there to be someone in the apartment.

“Hey,” Rumlow said, smiling at her. He was wearing one of those tight SHIELD issue t-shirts. There were lit candles on the coffee table and music playing. “I, uh, was just getting ready to call the Thai place. You wanna look at a menu or something? Or do you like surprises?” he said. 

“I’ll look at a menu,” Darcy said, trying not to stare at his arm muscles. They were good arms. 

“Take all the time you need,” he said warmly, but he didn’t move. He was standing at the corner of the kitchen, leaning against the counter’s edge.

“Are you okay?” Darcy asked, picking up the menu on the kitchen island. His expression went sheepish.

“Uhhh, yeah,” Rumlow said. “I’ve done something. Don’t be mad, sweetheart.”

“Sweetheart?” Darcy said, eyebrows going up. Since when did anybody call her sweetheart? “What have you done?” She felt herself automatically reaching for her hips again, then stopped. He was smirking again.

“A surprise. For you. Carter mentioned you wanted one of these, so I ran by a store on the way home and got you one,” he said, stepping aside. Sitting on the counter behind him was a shiny new mixer. 

“You’re freaking kidding me,” Darcy said, without thinking. He laughed. 

“You like it?” he said.

“You can’t---you bought me this?” she said. “But you want me to leave it when I move out, right?” she said.

“Are you going somewhere?” Rumlow said. “I thought I was bribing you to stay?” Darcy gaped at him. But she felt drawn to the mixer. It was red. And shiny. He was watching as she neared the heavy piece.

“Wow,” she said, touching it tentatively. 

“Boo,” he said, close behind her. It made her jump.

“You--you--,” Darcy sputtered, swatting at him with a dishcloth. “You asshole!” He laughed, then caught the dishcloth she whipped in his direction easily. 

“I thought red was your color,” he said. “What time is Ma calling to watch this show? She hates when I’m late for things.”

“Really?” Darcy said.

“Yeah. Get her to tell you about the time I was two years late for Christmas,” Rumlow said wryly. He smirked. Darcy looked at him--really looked at the candles and the mixer and his clothes--and everything shifted into place. Rumlow passed her a menu. “So,” he said. “What do you want?”

* * *

“Jane,” Darcy said into the phone, “He’s trying to get in my pants. He got me flowers and a Kitchenaid and he wants to watch _Cable Girls_ with us.” Darcy had called Jane before she was due to call Angela to start the show. She was hiding in the bathroom. Rumlow had shooed her off from unboxing the Thai food. 

“He bought you a Kitchenaid?” Jane asked.

“The mixer!” Darcy said. “What do I do?”

“Do you want him in your pants?” Jane asked. “I thought you wanted somebody in your pants. He could be the somebody.”

“Okay, yes, but also, low blow, Ms. Thor Nookie,” Darcy said.

“Dr. Thor Nookie,” Jane said. Darcy hmm’ed in acknowledgment.

“He’s only staying a week,” Darcy said, thinking out loud. “You’re right, he might be fun. A temporary hookup.”

“And you don’t even have to call Uber,” Jane pointed out.

“We can’t tell Angela,” Darcy said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Letterboard inspo! https://www.pinterest.com/pin/635500197402773380/


End file.
